


Canticum Aquilonis

by Salty_Caramel



Series: The Winter and Summer Lands (Stories from the Chorus Universe) [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Arranged Bonding, Clans and Hunters, Cultural Differences, Hunter/Gatherer AU, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Neolithic AU, Northern Lights, Pagan Imagery, Period-Typical Hunting of Animals, Spirits and Shamanism, Strangers to Lovers, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 03:23:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21331465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_Caramel/pseuds/Salty_Caramel
Summary: “The spirits called me to their realm while I slept. There, I saw a great beast. An elk, I thought. But when it turned towards me, I saw that its head was that of a bear.”Victor has been calling out for his One for as long as he can remember. And for just as long, his call has gone unanswered, an empty aching hole in his existence that nothing has been able to fill. Until, one day, a sightseer from the south comes to the Bear clan. She carries news of a match sanctioned by the spirits themselves; one that will unite two great clans of the Summer and Winter lands.Chorus in Aurorae, as told from Victor's perspective.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: The Winter and Summer Lands (Stories from the Chorus Universe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537687
Comments: 83
Kudos: 407





	Canticum Aquilonis

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Ao3 readers and writers! Nice to see you again!!  
My name is Salty. I used to live here.  
Currently I'm busy with my studies and travelling the world (I'm writing to you from Seoul, South Korea, currently.)
> 
> I realised that I have a lot of un-published stories and such, so I started reading through them. Then I decided that there are probably some people out there who would appreciate reading them, too.
> 
> Every now and again I get notifications from Ao3, and sometimes they are comments filled with very loving messages... they really do make me feel like the hours I spent writing these stories matter.
> 
> So this is my little reply to everyone who are still enjoying Chorus in Aurorae: part of the story from VIctor's perspective. It's not very long, but it will shed light on and explain a few things that were touched upon or eluded to in the original story.
> 
> According to google the title means something like "Song of the North Wind".
> 
> It's not much, and the rest of the story is heavily unedited or fragmented, so I don't know if I will ever post it.  
Still, if that doesn't bother you, I hope you will enjoy this story as well.
> 
> If you're new to this universe, I recommend to read Chorus in Aurorae first... though I suppose it doesn't matter either way. Do whatever you like!
> 
> Again, thank you so very much to everyone who have read my stories and who have sent me those lovely comments. I read each and every one of them.
> 
> Much love,  
-Salty
> 
> Full Summary:  
“The spirits called me to their realm while I slept. There, I saw a great beast. An elk, I thought. But when it turned towards me, I saw that its head was that of a bear.”
> 
> Victor has been calling out for his One for as long as he can remember. And for just as long, his call has gone unanswered, an empty aching hole in his existence that nothing has been able to fill. Until, one day, a sightseer from the south comes to the Bear clan. She carries news of a match sanctioned by the spirits themselves; one that will unite two great clans of the summer and winter lands.
> 
> Perhaps his call has finally been answered; it only needed the aid of the north wind to carry it south to the Summer Lands.
> 
> After passing a trial of ability and wit, he has proven himself worthy to be the clan’s representative for the union. The other half of the match is Yuuri of the Elk clan—a skilled archer, and a most benevolent hunter, known in the winter lands for his swift, anguish-free kills.
> 
> It is a good match, better than he had even dared wish for in his wildest dreams, and the expectation that he will finally, finally be with the One that was made and born into this world for him has Victor yearning for summer’s end. Although, Victor had not considered that Yuuri himself might be his biggest trial yet.

Victor knows the hunt. It is ingrained in him, deeply, like roots of an old forests.

The weather beating down on his back, be it harsh sunlight or icy hail, is a reminder to be humble to the lands and the spirits that dwell in them. The vital arts of following tracks, of making himself scarce, invisible to his prey, are a reminder to be grateful to those who taught him their ways and to always give thanks. The feel of a trusty tools in his hands, reinforcing the callouses of his skin, anticipating the moment it will be made use of, is a reminder of life itself, his own and that of his prey, its worth, its beginning—and its end.

Victor knows the hunt. He breathes it. He lives it. And he is very, _very_ good at it.

Among his earliest memories many revolve around the hunt. It is a part of him as much as his very own arms—vital and irreplaceable.

Through the winter it has been a blessing. He has been able to depend on his skills to eat, and to feed those who were unable to provide for themselves or their families when the lands were unkind and fruitless. Now there are many who owe him much; some even their very own lives.

This winter has been the harshest one in man’s memory. From the moment the snow had settled, there had been little to go around; game had been scarce, and even the smallest of prey had been hard to come about. Although the rivers and lakes are always plentiful, the ice had grown thicker than they had thought to anticipate. They had, at a point, retorted to digging the frozen earth for edible roots to fill the empty bellies of their children.

If not for the diligence of the clan’s hunters who had shared whatever they could spare and then some, unequalled tragedy could have come to pass.

But the winter is no more.

Summer is marching forth, and the winter must kneel before the powers that pull the sun from its slumber and make the days long anew.

The land of ice and snow melts beneath its harsh, warming rays; out of the darkness, life springs forth again. The rivers overflow and carry the ice away. The mountain herds make their way from the high moorlands and down the valleys; the opportunistic lynx follows not far behind. The bear returns from its travels in the spirit world.

The hunters stalk the lands again.

Victor crouches down on the chilled ground. The snow cleared from it not long ago, but the late colds have left it frozen for longer than it should have.

Next to him, unbothered by the cold beneath its paws, sits his loyal hound. He puts a hand on her neck, feeling how her body rumbles and vibrates to keep warm. He needs not do much else for her to catch his meaning, and she begins to sniff out the ground before them. She knows the hunt in a different way, not only taught but ingrained in her very instincts.

Soon she has caught the whiff of something in the air; an animal, he knows, for she goes tense with anticipation. A possible prey. When she immediately sets off, he knows it must be very fresh.

He follows her, quick on his feet but intent on making as little noise as possible, avoiding cracking sticks and kicking stones, keeping to the soft earth without rustling too much of the withered, pale grass left over from the summer-past.

When he catches up, she stands secluded by newly budded bushes, ears bent, on guard, chest rumbling with a soft growl.

The crunching of withered leaves beneath a hoof calls Victor’s attention. His eyes are drawn towards the sound, to where his hound’s glare is directed, and he finds a mountain deer at its source, traversing alone along the stream, separated from its herd. A doe, he knows, for its antlers have not yet shed. Her body is thin, as the deer usually are after a winter in the highlands, but she is… awfully so.

She has not carried this year. That is just as well. If she were with calf, he would have had to let her go.

She will feed whole families today.

The deer bends its neck to examine a lichen-grown trunk near the ground. She is but three ten-count lengths away, unaware of her spectators. Victor takes his chance.

He lifts the spear in his hand, inhales—and sets off. The spear soars through the air. The hound pounces.

-

“You did well today, Makkachin,” Victor tells the hound as he rewards her for today’s hunt. She eagerly descends on the fresh cut og thigh and begins tearing the dark, bloodied meat off it with an intense gusto that makes his chest ache for her. He smoothens out her coat with his bare hands, her familiar heat seeping through to his chilled fingers.

When the winter was at its coldest and darkest, they could not have afforded to prioritise the hounds. They were left only with bones that were already stripped clean and boiled for broth; the scarcest of leftovers. Sometimes not even this.

And yet, the hounds stayed. Their loyalty to their humans runs deep; they are kin, of the same pack—to be protected. They’re obliging with their instincts, and generous with their warmth, often spending the nights well inside the tents and huts, curled up with their human companions as a welcome addition against the biting cold.

When the nights were at their coldest and darkest, some families could not afford to repay this loyalty. Victor had looked away every time he had seen a desperate parent take their thin, raw-boned companions out behind the tents—had pretended not to hear the swing of the club, the final, tired whine. And he had promised, _promised _on his very own life that he would cut his own arm off and eat it before he would—

He shudders and refuses to think the thought. Instead his hand tightens in Makkachin’s coat and he scratches her lovingly behind the ears as she devours her meal.

“There, there. Take it easy. It’s all yours,” he chides gently, but she only slows down once the largest chunks are safely tucked away in her belly.

The rest of the deer is already boiling away in several pots around the settlement under the watchful eyes of the recipients. They had all but kissed his bloodied hands as he handed them a share of the prey. He’s been invited to share supper with every one of them this evening, should he be inclined to.

They are kind offers, all intended as a repayment of the kindness he has done them in turn. But beneath all the gratitude and admiration, there is also pity. Pity that Victor, who has the means to provide for so many, only has himself and a hound to care for when he retires at night.

_Outsider_.

He’s not unaware of the whispered words of sympathy behind his back every time he turns. Nor is he unaware of the comments contemplating why he has not yet done anything to change his circumstances.

Before he can sit down and consider whether it is their pity or the occasional, undoubtedly opportunistic remarks regarding his intentions to settle that irate him the most, a shrill voice cuts through the bustle of the camp.

_“Victor!!”_

He recognises it immediately and turns to find a familiar, scrawny boy on the cusp of adolescence stomping his way towards him, pale-blonde hair a mess around his face which has gone red in the chilly air and with his angered determination. Victor already has an inkling as of what this will be about. He smiles a practiced smile, hoping to deflect most of the boy’s anger, or at least to seem unbothered by it.

“Hello, Yuri. Have you practiced well today?”

The boy is not amused at all with his attempt to take charge of their conversation, and tells him so, vehemently. “You piece of _deer dung_. You promised me you would take me with you this morning!”

“Oh. Perhaps I did,” Victor agrees; truthfully, he had quite forgotten about this agreement until just moments ago, the memory returning to him once faced with Yuri’s wrath. He supposes the boy won’t take his excuse well, either way.

“_Perhaps?! _You said you would show me more about tracking! You know I can shoot, I can hit almost anything at any length! I can be of use to us out there!” Yuri argues his points passionately; even Victor must admit to his claimed skills, having witnessed him pick birds and squirrels of off tall branches some impressive lengths away. “Instead I was stuck with _Georgi_ watching the herd! And nothing remotely exciting happened!”

Victor hums. “Watching the herd is important work to be assigned to. If we did not know how many calves are born this year, how would we know to plan for our hunts when they return in the fall? If there are too few, we need to find additional resources. If we take too many—”

“—there won’t be any herd left the next year, yes, yes, I _know _this already. But that’s what our hunters are for!” Yuri insists. “That’s why I need to practice! So that I can _help_.”

A small sliver of guilt twists in his stomach then, for he knows exactly _why_ Yuri is so set on being an asset to the clan.

While no children had succumbed to starvation or cold, not everyone had come through the winter unharmed. Some of the elders refused their shares so that the children could have more. Yuri’s grandfather had given all his shares to his growing grandson and had refused to eat anything given to him unless Yuri was fed first, much to the boy’s distress. Nikolai yet lives, and now that the winter is over, he takes his share of the food once more—but his body, as with many others, is weakened by the ordeal, and may never quite be the same again.

Yuri’s thoughts regarding this are as clear to him as the water of the mountain rivers. In his mind, if he had known how to provide, how to feed himself, his grandfather might not have made that selfless sacrifice for his sake.

“Tell you what,” Victor says after a moment of contemplation. “Why don’t you show me your aim later. We will practice on some harder targets. You will come with us to the Meet this year, and if you do well in the contest, I will propose to Lilia that I think you ready for the inauguration.”

The boy’s eyes light up like stars in the winter sky, sparkling with surprised glee and deep yearning. The inauguration—the hunt where the younger clansmen, not yet blessed as true hunters, get to prove their worth. It is everything Yuri wishes for. But he seems wary still. “You really promise?”

“On my honour. I will even tutor you, should you win.”

Yuri’s eyes widen, and he seems like he has more to say, more promises to make sure Victor will keep, but their conversation is broken off by a call resounding through the valley. It is the voice of one of their own, a watchman in the valley who lets the echoes of the mountain carry his message to the heart of their settlement.

The call signals the arrival of a human—of a stranger—in the valley. Victor listens more closely. Even Yuri strains his ears, attempting to decipher the call.

The message tells them this: a lone woman is climbing the valley from the south. She is not a threat.

He has nothing else to do now, aside from checking on his snares and preparing for tomorrow’s hunt, so Victor follows the curiosity that sparks in him and sets off towards the south-western outskirts of the settlement. He leaves Makkachin to finish her business with the bone, but Yuri following him like a lost pup makes for a convincing replacement.

There, at the edge of the hill, he finds Lilia. The sightseer is staring out, further down into the valley, where a lone figure is making its way up towards the settlement. The woman described in the call.

He slowly approaches the sightseer.

“Victor,” Lilia greets, putting a hand on his neck. He tilts with it, lets her feel his pulse, before she pulls back, and he straightens. To Yuri, she says nothing. He is not yet sworn into adulthood, considered but a child in her eyes. Unless he is in need of urgent healing, he should not be speaking to a sightseer. “I trust your hunt went well.”

“The spirits acted in me and brought a calf-less doe to my feet,” he recites. “I have parted it and given it to those who need it.”

“A good deed, my child. The Great Bear is pleased.”

He nods, feeling a spark of pride with the acknowledgement—but it does not please him nearly as much as it used to, to hear these words.

“The woman…” he asks instead. “Who is she? Why has she come here?”

“I can answer the first of your questions,” Lilia hums. “As for the other, I’m sure she will indulge us an answer soon enough.”

She falls silent after, and Victor asks no more. He exchanges a glance with Yuri who looks like he wants to say something, but wisely keeps quiet. They stand in silence until the woman works her way up the final stretch and reaches them at the top.

She seems young, perhaps a few seasons older than Victor, and is objectively rather handsome. Yet she carries no bow, no spear. She does not look the part of a hunter. But in her hand, is a staff; old and carefully carved from solid wood, stained and burnt with subtle patterns and symbols. It has the appearance of an elk’s head.

The staff is the belonging of a person of great importance. She is, like their Lilia, a sightseer.

The seers face is flushed with exercise from the climb. He cannot tell for how long she has travelled for, but the pack on her back must have held far more weight when she began her journey than it does now. She puts her sack down and straightens. She is a tall woman, nearly as tall as he is, her hair long and tied back for practicality when travelling.

Once she catches her breath, she clears her throat and speaks, “The spirits have guided me here. Many greetings to the people of the Bear clan!”

Her accent is notable at once, slightly grating on the ears, vowels too long, stops and fricatives too soft—while she speaks it understandably, theirs is not her mother tongue.

“The spirits have guided you here, you who see through their eyes and act in their stead. Be welcome!” Lilia recites the words grandly for all others who have gathered to see the stranger arrive. It won’t be long before the entire clan knows that they have a welcomed guest in their midst. Lilia lowers her voice then and, as Victor has seen her do rarely before, _smiles._ “Minako. It has been many seasons since our paths last crossed.”

“Indeed, time has been long,” Minako replies, somewhat stilted, but perfectly understandable. “But if the signs I’ve been given are true, we shall see much of each other still.”

“Come,” Lilia says, gesturing for the seer to follow into the settlement. “You will eat, and we will speak. Victor, carry her sack and come along.”

Victor does as bid. Yuri, from the side, seethes with envy, as he surely is mightily curious of what this sudden visit entails. Sightseers do not leave their clans without good reason, and they hardly converse outside of great events, such as the Meets, unless their clans have crossed paths on their travels.

As he picks up the seer’s belongings, he notices her stare lingering on him. The attention is nothing he is not used to, for many are wont to look their fill whenever they meet him. He has been told he is a beautiful man by so many through the years; the novelty of it has faded a long time ago.

Yet, there is something about her gaze. There is, undoubtedly, some admiration there, yes… but there is more than that. Her stare holds a different quality, as well. As if she is measuring him. _Considering_. Assessing his worth.

The weight of her stare grows almost to be uncomfortable, but she breaks away before he does.

He is left with little time to think on it, for they quickly set off. It is but a short walk before they arrive and enter Lilia’s tent.

It’s one of the larger tents in the camp, much larger than what is needed for a single person, for while it is Lilia’s residence it is also where the elders hold their meetings, and where their sightseer performs her healings, should they be needed. When they arrive, Lilia bids Minako sit with her at the head of the tent. Victor quickly puts her things down by her side, but lingers, hoping to catch word of what errand the sightseer is here on.

Lilia doesn’t dismiss him right away, fortunately. “Victor, won’t you share our meal with our guest? Her journey has been long and hazardous, I am sure.”

He nods and picks a large cup from the side of the firepit where a skin filled with a warm broth has been slowly heated over the flames. He proceeds to fill it and serve it to the seers while he listens to their talk.

“I am grateful for your warm welcome,” says Minako as Lilia samples the stew, then places the bowl into her hands. She takes a large sip, showing true gratefulness for the food offered to her. She sighs heartily and puts the bowl down for a moment. “I shall eat with you, but my mind is occupied with my reason for coming here. I must ask you, one who sees with the spirit eyes and acts for them. Have you been shown visions?”

“I am shown a great many visions,” Lilia replies simply. “The presence of the spirits is great in my clansmen. They have always held us up and carried us through our times of need. I have been shown many things.”

Minako nods. “Certainly. But the spirits showed me here for a reason. Have you been shown a vision of a beast?”

“I see many beasts,” Lilia replies again. “I see their births and their deaths, for now is the season of new life, and time for our hunters to replenish our stores.”

“And what of a vision you do not understand?”

Lilia’s face visibly tenses at this. Victor can’t but wonder if she has taken offence to such a presumption. “There is little I do not understand. The spirits are strong in me.”

Minako frowns a little; Lilia’s answers must be frustrating to her, surely. But she pushes on.

“Have you been shown a beast unlike any you have seen before?”

This, Lilia pauses on. She remains silent for a while longer, watching Minako with a sharp, considering gaze.

“Five nights past,” she begins slowly. “The spirits called me to their realm while I slept. There, I saw a great beast. An elk, I thought. But when it turned towards me, I saw that its head was that of a bear.”

Minako smiles and opens her satchel. From it, she pulls a scrap of leather. On it, drawn with charcoal from a fireplace, is a strange shape.

“Is this the beast you saw?” she asks.

Lilia’s eyes widen, and that is answer enough.

“It came to me in a dream. The bear-headed elk.”

Lilia remains silent for a moment longer; this news surely has taken her by surprise.

“It is not coincidence,” Minako persists. “The elk and the bear, coming together. As must we.”

“As must we,” Lilia agrees. She suddenly turns to him, eyes severe. “Victor. I’m calling a meeting of the elders at sundown. I want every capable hunter there as well. Leave and spread the word.”

Victor goes to do as he is bid, leaving the seers to converse further—of their visions, of the will of the spirits. Within the hour, every clansman has received word of the meeting.

In the hours before sundown, Victor goes out to check his snares as he had intended earlier, trying his best to finish his chores while he ponders to himself just what this all means.

-

At sundown, as Lilia had said, they all gather in her tent.

The seers sit at the head of the tent, and they have managed to fit all the elders and hunters around the fire, as well. Anyone else who wants part in the spectacle are forced to listen at the entrance or stand outside, waiting for those who are closest to pass on whispers of the happenings inside.

Only when a low hum has been sounded and silence has fallen over them, Lilia raises her voice to speak.

“I, Lilia of the Bear clan, has shared a vision with the sightseer Minako of the Elk clan,” she announces grandly. “Our clans are to unite. The spirits call for a match between two great hunters of our clans.”

At once, it is as if the attending observers have all let out a collective breath, and curious looks are exchanged between them.

“The result of this match shall lead our clans into the future. It will be a great honour and responsibility,” Lilia continues, and gestures for Minako to speak next. The seer shifts slightly and then announces,

“On the behalf of out patron spirit, the Great Elk, I nominate our Yuuri of the Elk clan for the match.”

The room breaks out into murmurs, and even Victor startles. The name is familiar to him, surely is familiar to many who sits in this room. It is the name of a hunter. He cannot quite remember anything about his countenance, can briefly recall that he had dark, dark hair, dark as starless winter nights… but he remembers his shooting. His skill with the bow.

In the Great Hunt, he would fell beast after beast, one after another, with but _one _single arrow in a quick and near instant dance of death. A merciful hunter who showed no joy for slaughter. The way he wielded his bow, with such trust in his arms and precision without compare… it was impossible to forget.

“I name our Yuuri, for he is more than a great hunter,” Minako continues as the crowd listens intently. “He is blessed by the spirts.”

Lilia smiles, pleased. “He is given the gifts of giving and carrying life.”

Victor isn’t certain that he has heard the words right. But he must have. His clansmen around him are all discussing it in soft murmurs. It was not unheard of, the blessings of the spirits. They had performed many strange miracles, and surely this was simply another one. And what more, this means that any hunter, regardless of their sex, is eligible to be his match.

Minako stares severely into the room.

“Yuuri is our best hunter. He is strong and kind. The Great Elk will not allow for anyone who is not pure at heart, and a great hunter themselves, to be One with him.”

“To be given this honour,” Lilia announces, “there shall be a trial. Our wise elders shall name our candidates as they see fit. At sunrise, we will begin.”

There is more murmuring in the tent before the first of the elders rises. “I name our son, Borvin. He is yet young and stout and will make our clan proud.”

“Hah!” another elder cries out then. “Your Borvin couldn’t track his way out of a tent, and you want him to lead our clan? This is not a matter to be taken lightly!”

“Hear, hear!” yet another shouts their agreement. “Our Zorya is a far better choice. This winter, she has hunted for—”

And there is not much more said that is easily distinguishable, for all those with the right to speak has taken to voice who they would name and why they are better than every other choice presented, in spite of how pointless this endeavour is.

But one thing is clear as a summer day to all who are in attendance: each and every nomination made is made with selfish intentions. They are all sons and daughters and grandchildren of the elders.

Among the many capable hunters who do not have such connections, none will receive the chance.

“Silence!” Another voice breaks through the noise. It is, unsurprisingly, Lilia’s. “If you have all named your choice, that is all required of you. Come with the candidates at sunrise and meet us at the southern edge of the settlement.”

The meeting dwindles away, and Victor watches them all scatter and leave, feeling as if an opportunity has been stolen from him.

-

Victor wakes before sunrise when a fur coat hits him square in the chest, startling him awake.

“Wake up,” a gruff voice commands him, and he cannot disobey it. In the weak twilight, he makes out a familiar shape in the shadows.

“…Yakov?” he asks, squinting.

“No, it is the spirit of a bear,” Yakov mocks and rummages around to light the fireplace with the torch he is carrying. He looks up at Victor in annoyance. “Why are you still not dressed? Sunrise is moments away, boy. Even you won’t win a contest in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t nominated,” Victor reasons, trying to ignore the bitter surge rushing up through his chest as he pulls on his furs.

“By the elders?” Yakov snorts and chucks Victor’s shoes at his feet. “No. But given as it is a stupid decision, we are electing to ignore it.”

Victor blinks, trying to wrap his head around what the older man is telling him. “But it is against the will of the spirits! They will not let an _outsider_ compete!”

“They won’t let you compete because they _know_ you will win,” Yakov argues. “For you _are_ the best hunter of our clan. The very best. That is why they don’t want you sticking your dick in a pretty hunter from another clan. The elders want you for themselves, to mate into their families, as they’ve wanted for years now. Spirits and wills and honour has nothing to do with it.”

Victor swallows as he ties the bindings on his covers. All Yakov has said is, of course, the truth. “Why… why would they, then. Are they not tainting the seers’ visions by refusing to send me?”

“As I just told you, Vitya. The will of the spirits have nothing to do with their schemes and games.” Yakov’s voice is severe as he picks out Victor’s belts for him and strings up his best bow, checks on his spears. “To them, it’s all a matter of who will lead the clan. Whoever takes his seed or puts a child in the Elk-boy’s belly will by default have the spirits’ blessings to lead us into the future. The child of two outsiders, leading the Bear clan? They will do whatever to avoid that outcome, no matter what the lights in the sky say. But this is _your _chance.”

He puts a spear in Victor’s hands, just as he has tied his long hair back and out of the way.

“This is the last test, Vitya. This is how you prove your place here. If the spirits chose _you_ to represent the clan, there is no denying who you truly are. _Victor of the Bear clan_.”

There is a hole deep inside his body; Victor has known this for a long while. But the implications of what this could mean for him makes that hole ache with a longing that stings in his eyes and tightens in his chest. _Acceptance_. True, undeniable acceptance.

He grasps the spear.

Yakov nods in approval and begins to exit the tent.

“Wait,” Victor pleads, stopping him. “What will Lilia say?”

A smirk plays on the man’s crooked lips. “She agrees that the elders are sprouting loads of nonsense, too. In fact, she was the one who named you.”

Victor feels relief wash over him and can’t but grin. “I shan’t disappoint.”

“See that you don’t.”

-

The other hunters are already gathered at the settlement’s edge as the sun begins to rise. As are many other people. What they all have in common is the outraged surprise on their faces as they see Victor and Yakov approaching, the former readied for the hunt.

Lilia keeps her expression schooled into a neutral mask, but he can tell from the glint in her eyes that she is pleased by his appearance. Curiously, the Elk clan’s sightseer, too, keeps her eyes set on him as he takes his place among the contestants. Again, the weight of her stare serves to make him feel pried open and laid naked before her.

He can’t but feel that she can see something there that no one else can.

Their attentions are called, and Lilia steps forward.

“Once the shadow of this staff passes the gate, you will all traverse south into the valley. Your task is as follows: you will each hunt down one elk. You will cover the beast so that it may be retrieved to feed the clan; to me, you will bring its heart. It should be unnecessary for me to underline that our rules and traditions will still apply. You are not to slay a cow that is with child. Any calf you hunt should be a season old at the least. You will not be allowed any help.”

“The first to bring me a heart and who can show a hunting party the prey will be announced the winner of the competition. You will be named our clan’s greatest hunter, and you will be made One with the named hunter of the Elk clan.”

The sun rises a bit further behind them. The shadow of the staff grows a little longer… and it passes the gate.

They set off down the mountain.

-

Victor knows the hunt. It is ingrained in him, its roots deep and strong.

The early summer sun beating down on his back; the vital art of following tracks, of making himself scarce, invisible to his prey; the feel of his trusty tools in his hands, reinforcing his calloused skin… he breathes it. He lives it.

But no amount of tracking helps when there seems to be not a single elk in the valley.

He has been patient, combed through the area for any trace of trampled ground or droppings. He has gone far enough from the camp for the proximity to humans not to be a large problem. He is cautious of going too far, though. He can’t risk passing a small herd or a single animal that could be found by his competitors while he is far away. He could not possibly win an uphill race against someone who is already close to the settlement.

By midday, a heavy weight in his stomach grows as a voice in his head tells him, “you’re too slow” and “someone must have gotten their kill already.” He can’t avoid the feeling that tells him he’ll be too late.

Then, something happens.

In the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees a bear.

His first reaction is to brandish his spear as fear sparks in his chest. A bear in the spring, hungry after a long winter, possibly with cubs to feed nearby, is not something anyone wants to encounter. Not alone.

But when he turns, there is no bear.

There is nothing.

He stares hard at the trees, at the forest and the lines of the trunks, asking it to reveal if he is going mad, or if he had really just…

There’s a sound. The sound of twigs snapping. Of leaves shuffling. Of grass crunching beneath powerful hooves.

There, in the clearing where he thought he had seen the bear-like creature, an elk slowly appears, previously hidden in the shadows of the pines. Had he continued his trek, he would have passed by it, easily. It’s an old bull; a large animal, far taller than Victor, easily thrice his size. Its hooves could easily crush their way through his ribcage if he were to end up underneath them. It would also feed the entire clan for days.

He swallows.

He is close. Perhaps too close. If he moves now to grasp his bow or his spear, the bull might take notice of him. If it does, one of two things will happen: the bull will startle and run away, go galloping down the valley at a pace which Victor will have no chance to keep up with, or it will turn on him, and he would not live to see another day.

_Focus_.

Picking up the bow will be too slow. While not entirely unskilled, in the time it will take for him to nock the arrow and take his aim, the bull will either be long gone or have its hooves trampled through his chest.

He only has one spear. If he tosses it and misses, he will only have the knife in his belt left to count on. If he engages the elk directly, chances are he won’t leave unscratched. There is really no choice to make at all. He must place his trust in his arm, in his strength, his aim.

The bull grunts and bows its head to devour a patch of newly grown grass.

Victor heaves his spear-arm.

-

The rush of the kill is still strong in him as he tears his spear out of the elk’s chest. Somehow, it only aids to sharpen his focus instead of blinding it needlessly with flashes of images from the act. With strong, steady hands he slits its belly open and pies its mighty ribs apart. The animal’s legs still twitch in the throes of death, but Victor avoids their kicks and otherwise pays them no heed. _There. _He has found the heart.

It’s large and heavy and bloody, but he doesn’t hesitate to cut it out. It is warm in his hands, its heat spreading out into his fingers. He hadn’t realised before now how cold they had been from the trek.

Remembering the instructions, he makes sure to cover up his prey the best he can with branches and nearby grasses and moss. If he is quick, their hunting party should be able to return for it before a lynx or another predator can make a meal of it. Not that he thinks any one animal could ever finish more than a small stomach full of the mighty beast he has slain, but a pack of them might.

He begins the uphill trek.

The sun is harsher now, beating down on his back and warming him through his furs, assisting in building a sweat on his brow that dampens his hair and his back. His breathing is harsh now, and he does not bother to hide it as he is no longer stalking for a prey. The heart is yet warm, its blood dripping down his arms, seeping into his clothes; it should be a bother to him, yet now the feel of it a grounding force that helps him focus his mind on the trail home, and the trail only.

The trees pass around him, twigs crack and pebbles bounce as his feet kicks them out of his path. The hill is steep, but he takes no moment to rest.

The familiarity of the final hill before the settlement sends another sting of urgency through him and pushes him to move faster. He dares not think of meeting another triumphant face at the top, of these efforts being for naught.

By the time he reaches the gate, the elk-heart has stopped pulsing in his hands. He is exhausted, tired out from a long trek and little food and drink. But Lilia is waiting there, on the southern ledge. As are many others. He glances around, warily.

There is no trace of another bloodied elk-heart or another hunter to carry it.

He meets Yakov’s gaze and sees that he seems very pleased.

He feels his own heart soar and clench tightly in chest.

“Victor. Leave your heart here and take a party to collect your prey,” Lilia commands him. She doesn’t hide the pleased smugness about her as she adds, “The spirits have chosen well.”

It truly does not dawn on him before he sits around the large fire that night, watching the spectacle of dance and song celebrating the will of spirits as he chews the tender meat that is the result of his hunt.

Across from him, the flames of the fire burning between them, he finds Minako staring at him once more. This time, there is more approval that criticism in her demanding gaze, yet he still can’t shake off the intuition that she is not quite done testing him. Around him, there are many sour glares and bitter murmurs.

But they matter not. It’s been made official now, however brief the ceremony. With no family to prepare for him, it hadn’t taken long at all.

Lilia had made the most of it. She had worn her bear-skull mask, sung the songs and rites, painted his face and hung the necklace of knuckles and teeth around his neck.

He is no longer an Outsider.

He is Victor or the Bear Clan, the greatest hunter of the tribe. And he has been given a mate-to-be, with whom he will become One before summer’s end.


End file.
